


Lady Trevelyan

by itallstartedwithacrush



Series: They Call Me Barbarian [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Avvar Pantheon, F/M, Grief, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, NOT Avvar Cullen Rutherford, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallstartedwithacrush/pseuds/itallstartedwithacrush
Summary: "Surely this was not what the gods wanted."The Herald of Andraste is not who they think she is. She has agreed to help seal the Breach, but even as an ally, Haven feels like a cage.





	Lady Trevelyan

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue in Avvar/Old Norse and their translations are at the end.

Surely this was not what the gods wanted.

Siggy sat alone in the cabin she had awoken in days before. She took in the sturdy walls. The pillars making up the walls transformed into the bars she had seem the first time she found herself in Haven. True, she had pledged her loyalty to this ‘Inquisition,’ but when she reflected back on her words with Cassandra and Leliana, she saw it for what it was. There was never a choice other than staying.  

Her gaze turned to the sickly green mark imprinted on her palm. Since closing the rift at the breach the pain had almost vanished, but almost was not good enough. She found herself more often than not roughly running her short nails against the skin. Whether it was from pain or the mere knowledge that there was foreign magic now unwillingly bound to her skin, she could not be sure.  

Laughing drifted in from the open window. It seemed her neighbors were returning from a night spent in the warmth of the tavern and probably a few tankards of ale. She listened as a door opened then shut.  

Then, the blood curling cry of a screech owl tore through the night. Her head snapped towards the sound so quick the thick mixture of light auburn hair and thin braids whipped around her shoulders. Bare feet padded from where she was seated before the heath to the window. She strained her ears listening for any approaching footsteps. It had to be close to midnight. It was late but not late enough to ensure her presence in the streets would go unnoticed. Especially if one of the Commander’s guards were to see her.  

Another screech sounded. 

While she was no rogue, surely the milk-drinking green recruits would miss her presence as long as she kept to the shadows. She could make herself not stand out at least.  

Dark round hazel eyes landed on the mercenary coat she had been captured in. It was uncomfortable, and the metal parts would only draw others’ attention. Instead, she reached under the low bed frame and pulled the large bundle she had found waiting for her two days ago out from its hiding place. Subtle, weathered hide felt like the best silks under her fingers. The face of Lady Trevelyan had been a heavier mask to wear than she had thought. Sliding the think fur lined armor over her bare skin felt better than any lover’s touch. After dressing in the matching pants and boots, binding her hair with a leather cord, and raising her hood, she pulled herself through the small window and into the snow. 

Climbing the fence around Haven was hardly a challenge compared to the cliffs she had scaled since she was a young girl either in a challenge with her brothers or to watch for prey when she hunted. It was the yard full of tents serving as the army’s barracks that made her pause. A single guard stood at the gates, but his attention was on the elf woman currently batting her eyelashes at him. Two more were making their way past the smithy, probably the patrol. The training yard was empty, and from her position she could see a clear path almost all the way to the abandoned cabin she found the night before. She just had to make sure the couple by the gate’s attention were occupied…By the time she looked back the soldier had moved from his post and was being pressed into the dark outer wall with the elf’s mouth locked with his. 

The warrior rolled her eyes and heaved herself over the wall. She landed in the snow with a muffled thud and could not bother herself to look back to see if the couple had heard. They had better things to worry about it would seem.  

“Mathers!” 

Lady give me strength. Chancing a glance around the tent she had landed next to, she saw the Commander standing at the bottom of the steps feet away from his missing guard. The elf seemed to have disappeared into the wall of the town. Smart girl. 

“Care to tell me why you left your post?” The Commander’s stern baritone voice filled the yard. 

Not sticking around to hear the recruit fumble over himself, she set off towards the cabin and outer wall, but just as she reached the other side of the path- 

“You there!” She heard the Commander call out.  

Shit. She could not help the falter in her pace but did not dare turn to face him. Instead, she kept true to her destination and journeyed into the trees. If he had truly seen her, it would take him little more than a minute to catch up with her, and there was no hiding her tracks in the fresh snow.  

Perhaps she could catch him by surprise and knock him unconscious? A frustrated snarl passed her lips. Doing that would put her right back in the cage she woke up in the first time. Then, she seemed to remember herself, pulled the iron dagger from her hip, and entered the cabin. Her mind quickly took her in surrounds and decided on her plan of attack.  

A sliver of moonlight from the open door painted the floor and wall. It would be just enough to draw him in, and if she was quick enough, all he would remember would be a shadow. At the most, he might recall her armor, but it was impossible he had seen the face under her hood.The hearth was empty, and with no windows, the entire cabin was in shadow. There were crates and barrels stacked to one side of the door with enough open space above them for her perch and wait. Poised to attack, she turned the small dagger over in her palm and listened. 

It did not take long, and he was not subtle in his approach. Like being stalked by a druffalo, she thought. She just prayed he would not be as hard to beat. Metal on metal reached her ears as he drew out his sword. More moonlight flooded the room as he pushed the door open wide. The door blocked him from her view, but his shadow served well enough to track his movements. A head, barely visible above the high collar of his armor, slowly swept from one side to the other. The tip of sword mirrored the same motion. The floor boards grated together under his boots and his shadow stretched further as he enter the cabin. His head and sword were still pointed in her direction before the light began to disappear and his shadow along with it. The Commander closed the door enough to hide himself in shadow and upset her ability to see through the darkness. But his heavy footsteps were enough to pinpoint where he was. Just a few more steps and he would be placed perfectly in front of her. No matter which way he was facing, with the element of surprise, it would take her moments to place the needed blow, sending him into unconsciousness.  

She counted each step until he was perfectly in place for her trap. With her heart beat pounding in her ears and muscles crying for release, she launched herself from her hiding spot. 

If the gods had been kind, the sheer force and surprise of her attack would have been enough to take the man to the ground where his skull would connect with the hard floor, and he would have been out in less than a minute. 

However, the gods saw fit, as they often do, to not make things easy or simple.

Siggy realized he was much farther from the wall than she had guessed when she crashed into the his breastplate rather than his shoulders or neck. If it was not for his armor, her attack would have likely knocked him to the group. But the hard metal did its job well, and he staggered but a few steps back. 

A string of curses raced through her mind as she quickly righted herself and prepared for the fight she had hoped to avoid, for once.

His counter attack came quick. She was barely able to lunge clear of his sword’s reach. Another sweep made her retreat yet again. She knew if she did not get on the offensive soon, he would have her backed into a corner. As a third strike began, Siggy took advantage of his wide stance, slid her body across the floor, and sliced a thin line to the back of his leg before righting herself behind him. But he held his ground and turned to face her. His blade cut through the air from high to low. A blow she barely evaded. The next attack, a sharp lunge, sent the sharp metal through the side of her fur armor. It cut through the pelt and the skin at her waist. No sound left her lips. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she struck him before he had a chance to withdraw. She hit his exposed outstretched wrist with the blunt hard end of her dagger and as much force as she could muster. A smirk spread her lips thin as she heard his weapon fall to the floor and a quick kick ensured it was beyond his reach. But her focus on disarming him took her attention off the man himself. The man who in the next moment had her back pressed to the floor and her own weapon falling from her grasp.

She might have fallen, but she quickly realized she was far from pinned. The bulk of his weight only fell on her left side. She raised her hand as if to strike him in the head. But when he easily caught it, her knee connected painfully with his ribs in the slim gap between his armor. A second hit lifted enough of his weight from her that she could move far enough away to reach her lost weapon. Gripping it tightly in her right hand, she swung her arm across her body and aimed for the Commander’s head. But the hit never landed. Instead, she found her wrist being crushed in his firm grip. He forced her arm away then twisted the joint until the blade once again fell from her hand. There was no time to think of a counter move. With one arm still caught beneath his weight and the other held in his grasp, he quickly wrestled his way onto her torso until she was pinned beneath him. 

The fight was over. The hard edges of the plates at his knees bit into her arms as they were pressed into the floor. He had reclaimed her dagger for himself and held it to her throat. The worst was the weight that laid upon her chest. He was straddling her half way upon her middle. Perfectly awful at crushing her ribs while also applying pressure to her sternum. 

There was a reason this man was the Commander of the Inquisition’s army, Siggy thought pinned beneath him. She had be taught to fight and defend herself from a young age. Even her brothers would admit that it was never an easy win when they goaded each other into a fight. 

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” He asked, chest heaving as he spoke. Judging by his breathing, it had not been an easy victory for him either. Her chest swelled with pride which quickly turned to pain with his bulk holding her down. She felt the blade more keenly upon her neck reminding her a question had been asked. With little to no chance of escaping now, refusing to answer would only delay the inevitable. 

“A little hard to speak with a bronto sitting on me.” Her voice came out harsh and hoarse. 

The stillness that came over him told her even though their previous meeting had been brief that he recognized her voice. “Herald?”

“If I say yes, will you get off?”  

Immediately, his weight was gone. “I- I’m sorry, Herald. I didn’t know it was you.” His words caught her off guard. He hardly seemed the man to apologize let alone stutter over his words when they met outside the temple. 

Rising from her place on the floor, she breathed deeply as if to reacquaint herself with the feeling. “You mean, you didn’t mean to follow me into an abandoned house and wrestle me to the floor beneath your bulk?” 

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed, and she could barely make out the movement of him shaking his head in the dark as he picked up his discarded sword. “No, I would- I would never…”

She rolled her eyes at his unease and made to leave.

“Herald.” His steps followed her own.

She turned to him at the now open door. Moonlight laid across her form like a blanket, and she watched as the Commander’s eyes traveled from the tips of her boots to the fur framing her face.

“I- I thought you were an enemy scout.” He returned his sword to its scabbard. “Which begs the question, why are you dressed like that?”

Siggy glanced down at her furs and hides. “Like what?” 

“Well, I…“ Her retort had thrown him off guard. “What I meant was-“

“What you meant was why am I dressed like a barbarian?” That was how all lowlanders saw the people that called the Frostbacks their home and chose to lead a different life.

A shout came from around the cabin, and the Herald ran into the snow. 

“I thought I heard your lovely voice, systkin.” A man dressed in the same armor as Siggy stepped into view. He was at least a full head taller than the Commander with dark blonde hair to his shoulders and a full beard. After looking the Commander from head to boot, he turned back to her. He spoke quietly and with a mischievous grin on his face, “Pinn verr munu-a heill.”

“Bróðir,” She warned to which he raised both hands in surrender. 

Lowering her hood she watched him approach until there was almost no space between them. There was a look in his storm blue eyes that made any anger at his teasing disappear. Something cold gripped her heart, and she knew that look was reflected in her eyes as well. 

He took her shoulders in his hands and turned his back to the Commander as he brought his head down to meet hers. With their foreheads pressed together, she cupped his scruffy cheeks in her hands. Hushed words fell from both their lips so quiet that no one could have heard, in a language no one would understand. They shared a grief between them. A grief that would spread to others in the hold when they returned. “Snót hafa ér, Frey.” They spoke together. There was a moment of stillness before they broke apart. 

“Commander,” She stepped around the tall warrior but kept a tender hand on his upper arm. “This is Thorpe Gunnarsen of Frost Valley Hold.” 

The warrior nodded his head in greeting. 

“He is my brother.”

The Commander’s brow creased and his grip on the pommel of his sheathed sword tightened. “Your brother?”

A short nod was her reply. Her whole body was tense waiting for the next moment. Whether it would be filled with words or weapons, only the gods knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! This was part one of my series centered around my favorite created inquisitor and Cullen. More of Sigrid's history will be revealed in the next chapter, possibly told from Cullen's POV.  
> I have several more ideas in addition to the DA:I storyline. There will be some parts taken directly from the game, but my goal is to make most fit between what already exists. 
> 
> Avvar translations:  
> Systkin- "Sister"  
> Pinn verr munu-a heill- "Your husband will not be happy"  
> Bróðir- "Brother"  
> Snót hafa ér- "Lady keep you"


End file.
